


when we were infinite

by TheRedPalaaladin (Thighz)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Music, Canon Disabled Character, Former Air Force Pilot Shiro, Frottage, I delivered, M/M, Meet-Cute, Past Adashi - Freeform, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Service Dogs, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Violinist Keith (Voltron), everyone asked for soft sheith, no-nonsense romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 19:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17188871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thighz/pseuds/TheRedPalaaladin
Summary: Shiro has seen some beautiful things in his life. Sunsets in multiple countries. Planets through industrial grade telescopes. He’s touched the clouds and soared over mountain tops and across oceans.But this -This iscosmic.





	when we were infinite

**Author's Note:**

> I have been working on this for - gosh. Over a month now. I wanted it done by Christmas, but sadly, it still needed some fine tuning and editing.
> 
> We are in dire need of soft, easy romance right now and I'm here to deliver.
> 
> _Enjoy_

 

 

 

 

 

_when we were infinite_

 

 

 

 

 

  
  
  


Routine is the only reason Shiro makes it through his days. 

Routine is familiar, it’s ingrained in his very being. He needed it growing up, he needed it through his time in the air force, and now it’s the only thing he has left to cling to in the aftermath.

Getting out of bed is hard.

His shoulder aches from the chill in the room, reminding him that his heater needs to be switched on and that fall is coming to an end. He dreads putting on his prosthetic when the weather changes so drastically. It itches and it aches and some days he doesn’t even want to bother taking the time to strap it on.

This morning is no exception.

He sighs heavily at the ceiling and debates staying in bed all day.

Routine is what forces him to sit up.

It drags him through the pile of sheets until his feet hit the floor.

A cold nose drags up the outside of his ankle, curious, searching.

Shiro glances down and sure enough, his dog is there. White fur spotted with gold and curious blue eyes staring up at him, tongue lolling out the side of her jaw.

He smiles and leans down to scratch the base of her neck, “Morning, Atlas.”

She licks the inside of his wrist in greeting, then rises to her feet in sync with him. She follows him to the bathroom, where he takes care of his bladder and a shower and shave. He dresses for his part-time job, donning a grey sweater and heavy slacks to fight what he knows will be a crisp wind outside.

Atlas follows him wherever he goes in the house. She makes no noise. She’s patient and calm and follows his routine to the T.

He’s in the middle of watching his coffee brew when she jingles the bell wrapped around the knob of his front door. Her nose is still pressed against it when he rounds the corner into the hallway and twists it open for her.

She trots out into the cold weather and does her business in the tiny section of lawn he has in front of his condo.

He waits patiently, leaning against the door frame and ignoring the happy beep of his coffee maker signaling that his brew is done.

Her fur is cold when she slips back inside. Shiro cards his fingers atop her head as he leads them back into the kitchen.

He fixes his coffee with one hand. Stirs in four sugars with one hand. Holds the cup steady to his lips with one hand.

His small house is eerily silent. Atlas sits at his feet, her breathing the only sound besides the sipping of his coffee.

There’s too much space and it’s terribly lonely.

Achingly so.

A few months ago, he was flying high through the sky. An ace pilot working towards a promotion, a wedding, a  _ future _ . He’d had his whole life planned out. He was going to reach for the stars. He was in the running for  _ astronaut _ once his contract with the air force was completed. He was going to go to school and finally fly beyond earth’s sky.

Except - life has a way of yanking those things out from under you.

Now, he’s sitting behind a desk at a local library. Barely scraping by in the only house a disability discharge fund could afford. Adam hasn’t returned any of his phone calls. No program will even consider a pilot with only one arm.

Atlas whines softly and head butts his thigh.

Shiro sighs heavily and walks to the sink to rinse his cup, “Let’s go to work, girl.”

She boofs happily and beelines for the door, tail wagging. Shiro chuckles and grabs her leash from the hook.

Together, they walk the usual way to the library. Avoiding crowded sidewalks and busy streets.

It’s quiet and beautiful and cool outside.

Shiro soaks it in.

He feels so listless most days. Empty and alone, just standing still while the whole world spins around him. At one time, he was on top of that world and ready to face every obstacle in his path.

Atlas tugs on the leash.

Shiro frowns and glances down at her.

She whines softly, nose pointed down one of the busier sections of street. Her body is taunt and alert, but she’s not threatened, just curious.

“What is it?” Shiro pauses in his steps, peering along the street and trying to find what she’s looking at. He spots a little bakery half-way down. “You know what the vet said about giving you doughnuts.”

She whines again and only tugs once. She looks back at him expectantly.

Shiro bites his bottom lip and glances at his watch fretfully. They still have a little less than an hour, “Fine. But you’re only getting a bagel.”

She barks happily as he moves in her direction. Their pace stays the same for the remainder of the walk down to the shop. But she doesn’t stop when Shiro does at the glass door - she keeps on walking.

Shiro’s frown deepens, fingers tightening around the leash the further into the crowds they travel.

Atlas isn’t an officially trained service dog. Shiro knows that. He couldn’t  _ afford _ one. But she’s usually so careful about knowing his limits and keeping him out of stressful situations.

She falls into a slow pace at his side, still leading him, nose in the air and clearly searching for something.

“What is it?” Shiro asks quietly.

He only sees people. Some talking on their phones, some to one another. A few cast curious, sympathetic glaces at the tied off part of his sweater. Where his arm would be if he’d bothered to brave the clunkiness of his prosthetic.

He swallows thickly and fights to ignore the staring.

“Atlas.” He whispers, “We need to go to work.”

She whines softly and tugs him toward the crosswalk. He hesitates as the ‘walk’ symbol appears on the screen. People drift past him, heading to the central park across the street.

Shiro takes a deep breath and steps out into the crosswalk.

Atlas leads him through the iron gate of the park, tail wagging so violently it’s hitting the side of his thigh.

A group of chattering girls slip past him, multi-colored scarves wrapped around their throats and carrying steaming cups of coffee.

Atlas follows them and her pace picks up as they draw closer and closer to the spiral fountain in the center of a courtyard. 

It’s an old fountain, red brick faded with age and still running despite the dropping temperatures. It’s not cold enough for the water to freeze and it continues to spray in arching pulses into a shallow mosaic pool at the base.

A crowd has gathered around it, holding their phones in the air. Shiro can only make out half of the fountain, but what he  _ does _ see is a long-haired navy and white dog lounging on the edge.

Its head darts up and swivels in their direction.

Atlas barks once and hops up onto her back legs, tail going crazy as she tugs on the leash.

“Atlas, what the -  _ whoa! _ ” Shiro is yanked forward as she drags him across the courtyard and around the edge of the crowd.

Atlas goes right for the strange dog and their noses smoosh together. The blue dog boofs softly and Atlas plops her hind end on the ground.

Shiro deflates, “Uh - have you two met?”

They don’t even look at him.

Shiro groans inwardly and checks his watch. He’s going to be horribly late for work. But it’s hard to tug his dog away from something so unexpectedly pure. He reaches out to pet Atlas on the head and the other dog nudges his hand.

“Who do you belong to?” Shiro wonders, scratching the bottom of the dogs chin.

“He’s starting. He’s starting shhhh -.”

Shiro brings his head around to face the crowd as the whispers die down and the cool air grows still with anticipation.

A man steps up on the edge of the fountain; combat boots scuffed with age, black jeans tucked inside the inner lip, a dark red hoodie zipped up halfway and blocking a black shirt with a constellation sewn into the front. His hair is dark and dense and long to his shoulders, framing a gorgeously angular face.

There’s a violin and bow held by small hands encased in black, finger-less gloves.

Shiro’s heart shudders and his fingers falter in the petting of a strangers dog.

He’s obviously a performer - and a popular one - judging by the number of spectators gathered around him. There’s a small speaker system at the base of the fountain and a zip-tied set of wires leading to a tablet held in the lap of a brown-haired boy wearing glasses and a bright green sweater.

A small red bucket sits between them with a hand-written sign that reads ‘Tips’. It’s already half-way filled with crumpled ones and fives.

Shiro straightens and turns his whole body to face the performer.

The man tucks the violin into the crook of his shoulder and chin, the bow poised and fingers settling over the strings. He’s been doing this for a long time. It’s in the way his fingers move with memory and his body relaxes into a loose stance.

Shiro watches as the bow glides across the strings and a song spills out around them; much like the water cascading in the background. It pours at Shiro’s feet, melodic and sorrowful and heart wrenching all at the same time. His hand clenches around the leash, chest tight with an unknown emotion.

Each push and pull of the bow puts an intense crease between the performers eyebrows. The pace of the song ebbs and flows like a tide, the crowd titters near the edge, breath held.

Shiro has seen some beautiful things in his life. Sunsets in multiple countries. Planets through industrial grade telescopes. He’s touched the clouds and soared over mountain tops and across oceans.

But this -

This is  _ cosmic _ .

This is emotion bleeding out across brick and through the air and twisting inside Shiro’s chest like a living being.

He stays through the entire performance and it’s only when his phone vibrates to life with a confused text from his boss that Shiro realizes he is very late for work.

  
  


-

  
  
  


“Hey that guy whose dog has a crush on your dog is here again.” Pidge straightens her glasses and nods towards the edge of the fountain.

Keith turns slightly to stare through the gathering crowd and sure enough - there he is.

It’s been a week now, Keith thinks, that the strange, broad-shouldered god with the golden retriever has been coming to his shows. He always hovers near Keith’s dog, allowing them to cuddle and groom throughout the entire performance.

He looks uncomfortable and out of place in those tight, homey sweaters with an obviously military grade haircut. He’s still stupidly handsome of course and Keith has no qualms with being the sole focus of that intense, mistified gaze through three song sets.

“You should go ask his name.” Pidge suggests as she plugs her laptop into the speaker system.

Keith bites his bottom lip and watches the man give his dog a pet. His smile is slow and soft and Keith’s dog basks in the attention.

“It would be weird.” Keith murmurs, “We’re complete strangers.”

“Whose dogs are heart eyes in love with each other.” Pidge snorts, “I mean seriously.” She waves a hand between the dogs, “I’ve never seen Kosmo that infatuated with anyone but you.”

Keith scowls, “Stop calling him that.”

“I can’t keep calling him ‘dog’, Keith.” She whines, “Now, either set up for the show or go over there and introduce the lovebirds property.”

He groans in irritation and instead of doing what she suggested, picks up his violin case and sets it on the lip of the fountain.

The violin is old, scuffed and in dire need of a good polish. But it was his mothers and he doesn’t have the heart to cover up the wear and tear.

His fingers drift over the strings and they thrum under the strain.

Behind him, he can hear Pidge welcoming the old and new watchers, shaking the red bucket and boasting for tips. Her voice carries through the cold morning air in the courtyard as she tells them how often Keith performs and his instagram handle in case they want to see repeats of a show.

Keith lifts the violin out of its casing. 

She’s a sure thing between his palms and in all the years he’s played her, she’s never let him down.

Not through the rigorous lessons from his mother. Nor the loss of both his parents and the downward spiral of empty homes he passed through in his youth.

She was his only constant.

“Ready?” Pidge steps around him to grab her laptop.

Keith nods tightly, takes a deep breath, and twists around to face his audience.

They all stare up at him expectantly, smiles wide and phones at the ready. He notices that quite a few have already donated to the tip fund. Most of them will stay for the whole show and others will wander away to finish out their morning routines. All normal occurrences and all part of performing on the street instead of in a theater.

Keith casts a subtle glance towards the mysterious, sweater-wearing stranger and keeps his gaze hooded and focused as he begins the first song.

The result is instantaneous. 

Those tense shoulders slope down and the tired, sharp lines of his face relax into a look of absolute awe.

Pride wells up inside Keith’s chest and he puts a more determined flare to his movements. He jumps through the beats and silently praises Pidge for being so quick in adjusting to his mood swings during a show. He’d still be playing on the street corner if she hadn’t sat him down and given him a modern rundown of what his instrument and talent could really do.

His eyes never leave the man’s face.

He imagines goes over there and managing a smile and asking for his name. Introducing his dog and asking after the beautiful gold and white one at the man’s side. He imagines coffee dates and tucking his fingers into the wrists of those sweaters.

Keith imagines he is as brave in his social life as he feels when he plays.

  
  


-

  
  
  


Shiro dreams of the accident often.

It’s not an every night dream, but it occurs often enough that he wants to give up on the day as a whole when he wakes.

The after effects last for hours.

His chest stays tight with the fear of being trapped. Arm stuck between burning metal and with no way to call for help. Everything smells acrid, his flesh is searing and broiling and the pain is so intense he can only sob and wait for death.

It never came, of course.

Instead, he now has to spend his nights dreaming about it on a loop. A never ending cycle of ‘ _ you’re going to die here _ ’ and ‘ _ you’re alive but at what cost _ ’.

With that simple mission - that single accident - his entire world was turned upside down and inside out. And he can’t seem to recover from the shock of it all.

A cold, wet nose nudges his flesh hand and when he doesn’t move, he receives a soft nibble to his fingers. Shiro smiles at the ceiling and flips his hand so Atlas can rest her muzzle against the palm.

Her breath is hot across his arm as she leans into the crooking of his fingers.

“I suppose you’re ready to go see your beau?” Shiro turns his head on the pillow and her gaze is steady and beautiful.

“We don’t have work today.” He mutters.

Part of him wants to stay inside. Skip his therapy appointment. Order take out.

But that is the exact opposite of what he’s been trying to fix for the last six months. He doesn’t want a repeat of the first month after the amputation. The depression and the anger and the hopelessness he felt when the one person he needed most wouldn’t even answer the phone.

He’d thought that perhaps, maybe  _ just  _ maybe, Adam would have at least been a friend. Someone to anchor Shiro through the loss of his arm and the rejection letters from the pilot programs.

Except, Shiro stepped out of that hospital room and there was no one waiting for him.

Well wishes from his commanding officers and fellow pilots, but no one else. No family. No fiance. Just Shiro and a whole wide world in front of him and his dreams left in the dust behind him.

There was only one way to go and that was forward.

He follows his usual morning routine, but before he heads to the park to watch the violinist perform, he stops at an ATM. It’s been almost a month of slipping into the park three times a week and Shiro feels like a heel for not contributing to the tip fund sooner.

He’s also hoping it will give him a chance to meet the violinist and find out the name of the dog Atlas seems to have fallen in love with.

The courtyard is filled to the brim with people by the time Shiro arrives. He checks his watch and judging by the sharp trill of the violin, he’s missed the beginning of the show with his ATM delay.

Atlas rushes towards the dog laid out near the fountain and Shiro follows.

The violinist is on the ground today, the song playful and bright as booted feet move gracefully across the brick. A thumping beat pulses through the speaker system and Shiro grins.

Today is a good day. No sad, lonely, tunes or mournful sonnets about lost love. There’s sunshine in the music and it warms Shiro down to his very core.

He has nowhere pressing to be for now, so he takes a seat on the fountain. The strange dog and Atlas both plop their heads on his leg, wanting pets. He obliges them as the violinist draws the show to a close.

The crowd breaks out in applause and the violinist bows low, bow and instrument spread like wings.

People crowd forward to drop change and bills inside the bright red bucket.

The man gives a small, nearly indecipherable smile and his lips form around a soft ‘thank you’.

Nerves flare to life inside Shiro’s belly as the people begin to move away, chatting happily and pointing at their phone screens. He needs to stand up and drop his tip in the bucket before they pack up and leave.

A whistle cracks through the air and the strange dog’s head goes up, ears alert.

Shiro sees the violinist walking their way.

He stands up quickly, clumsily and Atlas grunts at his fast movement, “H-Hi.” Shiro smiles nervously, “Is uh - is he yours?” He motions to the blue dog.

The violinist nods, “Yea.” His hands go into the pockets of his red hoodie, “He’s not usually so social with strangers.”

Shiro wants to drown in his voice and it’s been less than a minute, “Probably not me he likes so much as Atlas.” He curls his fingers in his girls fur and she boofs happily.

“She’s beautiful.” The violinist murmurs, leaning down a bit and extending one of his hands.

Atlas sniffs it once and licks the thin fingers before allowing him to scratch behind her ears.

“What’s his name?” Shiro asks, attempting to cut through the silence.

Those sharp, dark eyes cut up to Shiro’s quickly, “He doesn’t have a name.” He gives Atlas one last scratch before straightening back up to his full height.

Shiro falters a little at the answer, “Oh.”

“But you can have mine.”

Shiro blinks.

The man coughs and flushes around his ears, “My name.” His hand dives back into the pocket of his hoodie and it clenches into a fist, “Keith.”

“ _ Oh _ .” Shiro breathes, “I’m Shiro. Ah - Takashi Shirogane. People call me Shiro.”

“You’ve been coming for a while.” Keith clears his throat.

“You’re music is - amazing.” Shiro gushes, “I’ve never heard anything like it.”

Keith’s eyes widen slowly, “Really?”

“Yes.” Shiro laughs, “But I really have to thank Atlas, otherwise I would have never come to the park at all.” He pats her head, “She kinda - lead me here? I think they’ve met before.”

Keith raises an eyebrow, “How?”

Shiro shrugs his shoulders helplessly, “Dogs are a mystery.”

“I think that’s cats.” Keith says.

Shiro feels his back pocket vibrate with a reminder that his appointment is an hour away. He reaches for it and clears the message, “Ah. I have to go.”

“Oh, well, thanks for - uh - coming.” Keith’s features fall a little and Shiro wants the half-smile and the red flush at his ears back immediately.

“I’ll be back.” Shiro promises, “I haven’t missed a show yet.” He puts his phone away and reaches for his wallet, maneuvering it between his fingers to get the cash from inside. It’s still a trick he’s learning to do with one hand.

He hopes he doesn’t look like an idiot.

“This is for you.” Shiro hands Keith the twenty, “I don’t do well in crowds and it’s hard to get to your bucket.”

Keith takes it carefully, “Thanks.”

“See you next week.” Shiro takes Atlas’ leash in his hand and loops it around his wrist, “Bye boy.” He scratches the blue dogs head, “Bye Keith.”

Keith gives a small wave as Shiro backs away from him.

Shiro is so distracted by the waving, that he nearly trips over Atlas and stumbles, twisting around before Keith can see him turn red from embarrassment.

Smooth, Shiro, real smooth.

  
  


-

  
  


Keith is in the middle of adjusting his violin strings when Pidge snaps a finger in his face and sets a cup of tea at his elbow.

“Saw you talking to tall, broad and buff this morning.” She settles across the table from him and puts her feet up on the edge.

Keith inhales the soft fragrance of the tea and sets his tools down to reach for it, “Yea. He wanted to give me a tip.”

“That’s it?” She frowns.

Keith drops his nose into the warm steam from the cup, “What else would he want?”

Pidge squints, “Oh I don’t know, your  _ number _ maybe?”

Keith grunts and takes a careful sip.

He’d thought about it while they were talking. In fact, he was pretty much ready to outright ask for a coffee date right there in the courtyard. But he was a coward and Shiro was so much larger than life up close.

“Plenty of repeat people come to my shows.” He shrugs a shoulder, “Shiro is just one in a long line of fans. He doesn’t want -.” His number. Or anything else besides Keith’s music in the morning before going about the rest of his day. Just like everyone else.

Keith’s music was all anyone ever wanted.

Pidge sighs heavily and tips her head back over the chair, “Fine. Be unhappy and miserable and pine from a distance then.” She waves a hand, “See if I care.”

Keith rolls his eyes and returns to adjusting his strings.

They sit in companionable silence. It grounds Keith enough that he can lose the tension in his shoulders and listen to the soft sounds of her switching between her phone and tablet. He relaxes into his task, only occasionally disturbing her work to ask for a tool from his shelf.

“I was thinking of adding a little more bass to the next set. If you’re not being a moody downer next week.” She cuts in after about an hour of work.

Keith draws his eyebrows together and twists a screwdriver on the fourth string, “Everyone loves the sad shit.”

“But they eat up your modern music.” Pidge says, “The fast pace, the thumping of a bass, synthetic sounds mixed with a violin are masterpieces these days.”

Keith shrugs one shoulder, “I like the classics.”

“Fine fine.” She scrunches up her nose, “Just text me your mood on Monday and I’ll go from there.”

Keith sends her a look.

“Or I could just buy you a mood ring.” There’s a smirk on her face now.

“I’ll send you the music on Sunday.” Keith points his tool at her, “Don’t you have to meet your brother?”

She curses colorfully and grabs her stuff, “Matt’s gonna kill me.”

“That would be a shame.” Keith mumbles.

“Har har.” She pauses at the door, “I’ll let Kosmo out. Don’t forget to bring him back in.”

Keith grunts, “I never do.”

He can hear her cooing at his dog as she scuffles through his apartment. The glass of the back door slides open and then closed.

“Bye Keith!” She calls out and the front door snaps shut as well.

Keith props his elbow up on the table and drops his chin into the palm of his hand. He drags his fingers over the strings, listening to the newly tuned sound.

He thinks of Shiro.

Of missed opportunities.

He wonders if he’ll get another one.

  
  


-

  
  
  


The opportunity comes quicker than he anticipates.

It’s Saturday morning and Keith isn’t in the courtyard performing. He’s at the groomers, getting his dog spruced up from the multiple romps through city park. The lady at the front desk is ringing him up when his dog goes from patiently waiting at Keith’s feet to nearly yanking his arm out of his socket in the span of seconds.

“What the hell -.” Keith drops his wallet and twists the leash around his wrist to stop his dog from going any further.

His dog barks once, tail wagging. Another happy bark answers.

“So  _ this _ is where you two met.”

Keith’s heart stutters to a halt inside his chest at the sound of Shiro’s voice.

He’s in a cozy blue sweater today, a white beanie over his head and holding a leash that leads down to his shimmering golden retriever. His smile is soft and he’s holding a green holiday cup from the coffee shop around the corner.

Keith’s dog practically drags him across the tile floor until he can touch noses with Atlas.

“Explains a lot.” Shiro continues, “If you take this route often. Atlas must have just - followed his scent.” He uses his leash hand to scratch Keith’s dog behind the ears.

“Yea - uh - I need to pay.” Keith scowls down at his dog as he practically curls around Atlas, “Can you watch him for a second?”

Shiro laughs, “Sure.”

Keith hands Shiro his end of the leash and goes back to the desk to retrieve his wallet. The receptionist smiles, “I was wondering when you two would cross paths.” She takes the card he hands her, “Those two are inseparable when they’re here together.”

“We’ve - uh - crossed paths recently.”

Keith wonders if the universe is trying to tell him something.

Once he’s finished paying, he turns around to find Shiro squatting down to both dogs levels and accepting head bumps. There’s a relaxed smile on his face and he looks perfectly content to sit between two massive canines and accept kisses.

Keith approaches carefully, “Thanks.” He takes hold of his dogs leash.

Shiro rises back to his full height, “No problem. Mind keeping an eye on Atlas while I go buy her shampoo?” He wiggles Atlas’ leash in Keith’s direction with a grin.

Keith manages a small smile and nods, taking the offered leash.

He watches Shiro walk up to the front desk, setting his cup on the counter and rummaging around in his back pocket for his wallet.

He’s wearing his prosthetic today, Keith notes. It’s mostly hidden by the long sleeves of the sweater.

Shiro returns a few minutes later with a brown paper bag.

Keith knows this is where they politely part ways. Shiro will smile and tell him to have a good day, see you at your performance next week. And Keith will go home and sulk into a bag of cool ranch doritos.

“Do you wanna get coffee?” He blurts out.

Shiro blinks.

Keith’s eyes move to the cup in Shiro’s hand and he resists the urge to slap himself in the face, “You already have coffee.”

“Hot chocolate, actually.” Shiro replies, “But we could go get you one?” He offers hesitantly, “Take them for a walk in the park?”

Keith nods, “Yea. Yea that sounds great.”

Ten minutes later Keith has his own steaming cup of hot chocolate and they’re stepping through the archway entrance to the park. It’s just shy of chilly, but the park is still bustling with runners, picnics and small parties under the awnings.

Shiro is a steady presence at his side.

“So, tell me Keith.” Shiro catches his gaze, “Why the violin?”

Keith blows out a breath, “My mom taught me when I was a kid.”

“You’re really good.” Shiro says, “Not that I have much to compare it to - but it sounds amazing.”

Keith huffs a laugh, “Thanks. What do you do?”

“I’m afraid it’s pretty boring.” Shiro looks sheepish and stares down at the ground, “I work at the library.”

“Really?” Keith asks in disbelief.

Shiro sends him a pained look, “What do I look like I do?” The look tells Keith he already knows what Keith thought.

Keith’s chest aches, “I guess you get that a lot?”

“I’m a man of routine.” Shiro glances forward at their dogs, who are walking as close as physically possible without tripping over one another, “I know I still look military.”

“Are you ashamed of it?” Keith frowns.

“No.” Shiro mutters, “But I’m ashamed of what it turned me into.”

Keith bumps their arms together, “You shouldn’t be. You seem alright to me.”

“Thanks, Keith.” Shiro laughs and his face goes back to it’s relaxed, happy expression, “I’m really glad Altas dragged me to your show.”

“Yea?” Keith loves the way their arms brush now, the click of their dogs paws on the walkway.

Shiro nods, “Yea.”

  
  


-

  
  
  


Shiro goes to every single one of Keith’s shows without fail through October.

If Shiro doesn’t have to work afterwards, they walk to the coffee shop and grab two hot chocolates and take both of their dogs for a stroll.

It’s the happiest Shiro’s been since he returned home.

His therapist has even noticed the shift in his mood.

He smiles at Shiro from over his clipboard, “Have the dreams gotten better?”

Shiro rubs the back of his head, “A little? I can’t really tell. Sometimes I remember them for hours after I wake up and other times they fade.”

“I’m glad you’re socializing, but human interaction isn’t a fix all.” The doctor says, “However, you  _ look _ like you’ve been sleeping better. I consider that a step in the right direction. How’s Atlas?”

Shiro laughs, “Still hopelessly in love with Keith’s dog.”

“Thatta girl.” The doctor chuckles.

It’s the first therapy session where Shiro doesn’t leave feeling strung out and empty. He even hums as he heads home to pick up Atlas.

Keith is just packing up his set when Shiro finally makes it to the park courtyard.

“Ah. I missed it.” Shiro frowns as Atlas beelines for Keith’s dog.

“Small crowd today.” Keith’s friend - Pidge, Shiro learned recently - is slipping her laptop into a bag, “Looks like it’s fixing to start snowing.”

Shiro tips his head back to look at the sky. It’s grey with clouds and does indeed look like it’s fixing to start raining flurries.

“I’m meeting Matt at the Garrison diner for waffles.” Pidge pipes up, “If you two wanna join?”

Keith sends Shiro a questioning look.

It’s a ‘are you comfortable enough to be around people right now’ look and Shiro appreciates it with his entire being.

“Food sounds good.” Shiro smiles, “Dogs allowed?”

“Yea.” Pidge shrugs, “Iverson really doesn’t care.”

Which is how Shiro finds himself stuffed into a corner booth with Keith, Pidge and her brother Matt. Atlas and Keith’s dog are laid out under the table across their feet. There’s hot food and friendly conversation and Keith’s side is pressed against every inch of Shiro’s.

Iverson is apparently the owner of the diner alongside Hunk, the chef who brings them stacks upon stacks of golden brown waffles decorated with berries and powdered sugar. Keith doesn’t talk much, Pidge and Matt do most of the chatting, but Shiro can see how close the three of them are.

“Where did you get your prosthetic?” Matt stabs a fork through his last half of waffle.

Pidge elbows him and Shiro can feel Keith’s leg kick out under the table.

Matt shouts, “Hey!”

“It’s okay.” Shiro pats Keith’s arm, “I got it from a local Veterans affair center. Just something simple.”

Matt wrinkles his nose, “They couldn’t spring for anything better?”

Shiro rubs his thumb over the artificial fingers, “Disability checks aren’t really able to cover the fancier prosthetic. But this one does it’s job. I can carry up to a certain weight and it has a short range of motion.”

Matt purses his lips and shoves his waffle into his mouth. He chews for a minute, holding Shiro’s gaze long enough that it becomes uncomfortable. He swallows, “You up for being a guinea pig?”

Shiro jerks, “A what?”

“Matt. Seriously.” Keith grits his teeth.

“I work in robotics.” Matt cuts off another waffle slice, “We specialize in repairing nerve damage and fitting amputees with a fully functioning prosthetic.”

Shiro raises a hand and waves it nervously, “I can’t afford anything like that.” Nausea rolls tight in his belly, “My insurance barely covers my check ups.”

Matt wiggles the fork at him, “No money required. Like I said, guinea pig. It’s an experimental project and we’re looking for volunteers.”

Keith practically growls out a harsh, “He’s not an experiment.”

“It’s just an offer.” Matt says earnestly, “No pressure.”

“A rude one.” Pidge rolls her eyes.

“An attempt to reverse the damage? Free cool metal arm?” Matt gives the fork a twirl.

Shiro looks down at his arm and curls a hand over it, “Let me think about it?”

“Take all the time you need, buddy.” Matt smiles.

  
  


-

  
  
  
  


November arrives and with it - the annual letter Keith receives from the Altean institute for musical arts.

It’s edged with gold and officially signed at the bottom by Allura Altea herself.

Keith grits his teeth and his fingers bruise the fine paper.

He never goes to the auditions. He doesn’t see the point. He can’t afford it, he’s not  _ good _ enough to go to school for something he does in his spare time. But Pidge knew someone who knew someone who put in a good word for Keith a few years ago.

They’ve sent him a letter every year since.

“What’s that?”

Keith tenses up for a split second before his brain catches up to Shiro’s soft timbre.

He looks up and sure enough, Shiro is standing there holding a tray with two cups. He’s in a heavy jacket today, as there’s a thin layer of snow on the ground inside the park. Atlas isn’t with him. Keith can practically feel his dog deflate at his feet.

“Nothing.” Keith balls the letter up inside his fist.

“Didn’t look like nothing.” Shiro presses, “Bad news?”

Keith grunts, “No. Audition letter.”

Shiro’s eyes blow wide, “Wow, really? That sounds great!”

“I guess?” Keith hedges, “They send me one every year and I never reply.”

Shiro is quiet for a moment before asking, “Why not?”

Keith gives a half-hearted shrug, “It’s expensive and I’m mostly self taught. I can’t really hold a candle to the other people who go to the audition ceremony.”

“They must see something in your music if they’re this persistent.” Shiro says.

“What would I even do there?” Keith throws out his hands in frustration, “I’ve always just played as a hobby - I never planned to make a career out of it.”

“It would give you a chance to broaden your skills.” Shiro replies, voice is steady and sure, “You could perform in theatres. You’re really good, Keith.”

“There are people who are better.” Keith mutters.

“Of course there are.” Shiro squats down before Keith’s knees and slides the coffee tray onto the fountain edge, “There will always be people who are better, but those people aren’t you. They can never be you or replace you.”

Keith lifts his gaze to Shiro’s, “You think I should do it?”

“I think it wouldn’t hurt to audition.” Shiro smiles.

Keith stays quiet for a while. Shiro doesn’t move or speak, just smiles serenely up at Keith. The park is alight with noises around them, but Shiro’s warm gaze is all Keith can see. All he can feel. His stomach twists with warmth and something blooms open inside his chest. Something he can’t quite name yet.

“Can you make me a deal?” Keith asks.

Shiro tilts his head, “What kind of deal?”

“If I start preparing for the audition - will you meet with Matt about your arm?”

Shiro looks a little startled at first. Keith almost thinks he’s overstepped and scrambles to come up with a way to counter it, but Shiro just chuckles, “Can I ask why you think I should?”

Keith swallows and averts his eyes, “Because - you must have had dreams too, before your accident.”

“I did.” Shiro agrees, “Big ones.”

“Then -.” Keith meets his eyes again, determined, “It wouldn’t hurt to see what he can do. So you can - try again.”

Shiro’s eyebrows go up in wonder, “You are something else.”

Keith feels a flush crawl up his neck and he twists his hands together in his lap.

Shiro’s hand closes over the top of them, “Okay. Yea. Let’s make that deal.”

“Yea?” Keith asks softly.

Shiro squeezes his hands with a smile, “I’ll go meet with Matt. You start putting together a song for your audition.”

Keith goes to reply with an affirmative, but Shiro lifts one finger with a smile, “One condition.”

Keith frowns, “What is it?”

Shiro smile grows wider, “I get to watch you practice.”

Keith sputters out a laugh, “That’s it?”

“I’d love to see your process. Maybe give you some encouragement?” Shiro’s hand is so, so warm over Keith’s own.

Keith wants to turn his palm over and lace their fingers together. Wants that warmth to thaw him from the inside out.

“Condition accepted.”

  
  


-

  
  


Holt Robotics is a small, brick building six miles from central park. It boasts an intricate landscape of seasonal flowers and trees leading from the opening of the driveway, all the way to the front doors.

Shiro and Atlas walk the length of the drive from the bus stop in awe.

There’s a woman studying a section of wilting flowers near the front steps. She looks thoughtful as she scribbles something on a clipboard. Though, she must hear Shiro’s footsteps because her head comes up.

“Oh!” She smiles, “You must be Shiro.”

Atlas gives a happy bark and Shiro smiles, “I am.”

“Colleen Holt.” She puts out her opposite hand.

Shiro’s chest tightens with emotion as he shakes it.

Colleen then wiggles her fingers at Atlas, “May I pet her?”

“Oh.” Shiro nods, “You can. She’s not an official service dog.”

“Matt told us. Though she exhibits a lot of cues.” Atlas preens at the attention, “Was she in the program?”

“Ah yes.” Shiro laughs, “But she tended to steal food. Doughnuts specifically. She has a one track mind if she smells them.”

Colleen’s laugh is musical.

“Hey you found us.” Matt’s voice pulls Shiro’s gaze around to the front door.

“I’ll let Matt take over from here.” Colleen gives Atlas one last pat, “It was nice to meet you, Shiro.”

“You too.” Shiro steps back and heads to the front door.

“Pidge will be here in a bit to help you yank those out, mom.” Matt points at the wilting flower bush.

Colleen heaves an unhappy sigh, “I was so sure they’d last through the winter.”

“Maybe next year.” Matt offers, holding the door open wider for Shiro and Atlas to slip inside.

The tiny office is already decorated for Christmas, despite it being late November. Shiro smiles to himself as Matt leads the way down a long foyer of garland and red ornaments. They pass Pidge up on the way as she frantically yanks on a sweater to join her mother outside.

“I’m glad you decided to come.” Matt opens a door that leads into a small laboratory teeming with half formed robotic equipment.

There’s an older man seated at a desk, face mask down and sparks flaring at the end of a small welder.

“That’s my dad - Sam.” Matt waves, “If everything works out, he’ll be the one fitting you with the arm.”

“If.” Shiro mutters.

“You said it’s been almost a little over seven months since the accident?” Matt drops into a chair and glides across the floor on the roller wheels.

Shiro finds a stagnant chair and takes a hesitant seat, “Yes.”

Matt spins to face Shiro, “Our only concern are the nerves they had to cauterize. Nerve damage is one thing, complete nerve cut-off is another.”

Shiro shifts around in the chair, “I waited too long, I know.”

“No.” Matt leans forward, “We have shitty benefits for veterans and I know things get a little dicey in the field.”

Shiro gives a wry smile, “Work with many cases like mine?”

“Not as often as we’d like.” Matt huffs, “Dad’s trying to weasel his way into the VA’s programs and convince them to distribute funding for amputees, but you know -.” He waves a hand irritably, “Shitty medical care is this country’s slogan.”

Matt claps his hands together, “Okay. This is going to get a little handsy, but I need you to take off your shirt.”

Shiro winces and acid curls up his esophagus. He fiddles with the edge of his shirt - unsure. He’s only ever been naked in front of himself and a doctor since they accident.

“It’s not -.” Shiro swallows down the bile, “It’s not pretty.”

Matt’s eyes soften, “Take your time. Not gonna make you. Even if it takes a hundred sessions for you to get comfortable enough.”

Shiro closes his eyes, “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Matt’s wheels roll across the floor again.

A few minutes tick by while Shiro calms the panic in his chest. Atlas rests her head on his leg and he reaches out to thread his fingers through her fur. She grounds him, steadying his nerves and allowing him to breathe again.

“Can I ask why you offered?” Shiro finds Matt fiddling with a robot arm when he finally opens his eyes again.

Matt glances over his shoulder, “Pidge mentioned you. Said you started showing up at Keith’s performances. But that was only after I caught her doodling you a new arm in her ‘idea’ notebook.”

Shiro blinks, “I - what?”

“She seemed a little frustrated about the clunker you were wearing and that you only seemed to wear it on warmer days.”

Shiro purses his lips, “It aches on cold days.”

“Sounds about right.” Matt clears his throat, “What we would fit you with would solve that. Not one hundred percent, but enough that you won’t feel like the arm is a burden instead of something that’s meant to make life normal.”

“You really think you can?” Shiro mutters quietly.

Matt looks earnest, “Yea, Shiro. I’d love to try.”

Shiro thinks of Keith. Of their deal. He thinks of the all the rejection letters he’s received. 

He imagines being able to fly again.

“Okay.” He grabs the edge of his shirt, “Let’s do this.”

  
  


-

  
  
  


The warmth of Keith’s sofa and two hulking dogs puts Shiro in lethargic mood. Especially after walking through early december weather to get to Keith’s apartment. 

Shiro tends to drift off to the rumbling snores of Kosmo and Atlas and the slow, practiced tuning of Keith’s violin.

He can sleep for hours sometimes. Dreams murky with memory and the colorful sounds of a beautiful man playing a beautiful instrument.

There’s always hot chocolate in two mugs on a makeshift coffee table and a blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders when he wakes. Atlas snuffles deeper into Kosmo’s fur and Kosmo huffs out happily even as Shiro shifts around to find Keith.

Today, Keith is in his pajamas, sitting cross legged on the floor, tuning the strings at the neck of his violin.

Shiro hums drowsily, “Need a tool from the shop?”

Keith shakes his head, “No. Just trying to make sure that last note doesn’t sound so sharp.”

Shiro sinks further into the sofa with a grin, “It sounded good to me.”

Keith sends him a look, “You were sleeping  _ and _ you’re biased.”

“I am.” Shiro admits.

He hunches back over the instrument, deft fingers twisting a silver key back into place, “Pidge texted earlier. Said she was bringing celebratory pizza over with Matt.”

Shiro rests his head on the armrest of the sofa and watches Keith work, “What are we celebrating?”

Keith gives a half smile over his shoulder, “You want me to ruin the surprise?”

That puts Shiro on alert. 

He blinks away the drowsiness and sits up, “Did - Did Matt -?” Elation and anxiety rip through him in equal measures. Hope trails close behind and Keith’s soft, secret smile tells him everything he needs to know.

He’s getting a new arm.

He can’t stop the burning behind his eyes. Nor does he really want to. He buries his face in Atlas’ fur and lets out a sob. Kosmo nuzzles at his stomach with a soft whine.

He can hear Keith set the violin on the coffee table and his weight dips the edge of the couch where Shiro sits. 

A small, warm hand touch his back. It’s awkward, but Shiro appreciates it all the same.

“Don’t tell Matt.” Keith’s voice is so soft - so understanding, “He wanted to be the one to give the news.”

“I can act surprised twice.” Shiro laughs wetly and peeks at Keith over Atlas’ head.

Keith’s smile is beautiful, his profile lit by the sunset coming in through the living room window. His hand doesn’t move from Shiro’s back and his thumb strokes a small section of Shiro’s spine.

“Thank you.” Shiro wants to kiss him. Gather that lovely face up and drown in everything Keith is willing to give.

“For what?” Keith murmurs.

“Encouraging me to go through with it.” Shiro replies, “A few months ago, I wouldn’t have even called Matt back.”

“Glad I could help.” Keith says, “You deserve this, Shiro.”

They sit in comfortable silence until Kosmo rolls off the couch wanting to go outside. Atlas follows and Shiro rises off the sofa to slide open the door.

Keith resumes his audition practice as Shiro leans against the glass frame, watching every movement. 

The music fills the small space of Keith’s apartment and bleeds through the cracks in the wall to Shiro’s heart. A wall he put up after the accident. After Adam. After being told he would never be able to pilot again.

He’s happy, he realizes as he watches Keith’s closed eyes and the intense, all consuming way he plays. 

With his entire heart on his sleeve and his soul showing through each glide of bow over string. It’s enrapturing and lovely and Shiro realizes with a jolt that he’s in love.

It’s not a revelation - it’s a comfort.

His heart swells and his throat tightens with the urge to cry again. 

Atlas and Kosmo slip back in through the door, nails clicking across tile as they head to the kitchen for water.

Keith pauses in the middle of a stanza, eyebrows drawn tight for a second before playing another stanza. He experiments with two other variations, one fast and one slow, before starting from the beginning again.

Shiro returns to the couch and watches Keith with a new sort of reverence. He pulls the blanket back around his shoulders and reaches down for his mug of hot chocolate.

Keith’s gaze meets his own over the rise of his violin. He smiles and the song grows softer, almost as though he’s playing for Shiro and Shiro alone.

Shiro’s heart shivers and it yearns. Oh, how his heart yearns.

But not yet - his mind says. 

Not yet.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


“Are you ready?” Pidge straightens his bow tie, eyes glancing up at him.

Keith feels a little queasy. He can hear the other auditioners chatting around him. Knows there’s a sizable audience in the auditorium along with the judges. He wishes Shiro could be here.

“Has Matt texted you?”

Pidge huffs out a laugh, “Shiro is  _ fine _ , Keith.”

“I trust Matt.” Keith frowns, “I just don’t want Shiro to wake up alone.” He bites his lip, “Are we sure the surgery is safe for him?”

Pidge plants both of her hands on his chest, “Breathe.”

Keith inhales shakily, “I am.”

“Uh-huh.” She gives him a skeptical look, but her next words are a reassuring, “It’s safe. He’s going to be fine. You spoke with him right before they put him under.”

Keith knows.

He  _ knows _ .

Shiro’s soft, ‘Good luck. You’ve got this’ is the only thing keeping him from bolting out the side doors and going home. That and Allura personally meeting him backstage with a warm kiss to his cheek and a soft ‘I’m so glad you finally came’.

His nerves are still jumpy, even as she hands him his violin and twists him around to face the stage.

Another audition-er walks off the opposite side after giving a deep bow.

Keith’s hands shake on his instrument, “Pidge -.”

“You can do this. Go.” She whispers behind him, “Be great.”

He steps out through the curtains and the lights are nearly blinding. It takes him a few minutes to adjust before he can really see the six judges at a table in front of the stage. Allura sits at the end and gives him an encouraging thumbs up on the outside of the table.

Keith clears his throat, mostly for himself, and tucks the violin under his chin. His fingers are trembling and the bow shakes as he lifts it to rest against the strings.

The faces in the crowd are expectant. The judge's pens poised above little scorecards and mouths moving as they whisper between themselves.

Why is he here?

Keith sets his fingers over the neck strings.

Shiro.

He’s here because of Shiro.

Because Shiro laid out on his couch for weeks, covered in both of their dogs and Keith’s blankets and told him his music was beautiful. That he was meant to do this.

Because watching the tense line of Shiro’s body relax every time he played made Keith’s heart soar.

Because Shiro came to his show in the courtyard and pet his dog and bought Keith hot chocolate.

Because he is in love.

Keith steadies the shake in his hands and faces the audience head on.

He’s not allowed his usual background music for this audition, so he had to choose his piece carefully. Or more accurately - Shiro and Pidge chose his music and Keith chose his pacing. They wanted to accentuate his talents while also giving him the freedom to play it fast and loose or tight and soft.

He chose to do both.

Each drag of the bow sends his heart skittering around inside his chest. He jumps through the notes, eyes squeezed shut. It filters through him - swirling and building - a crescendo of emotion with every new note.

He remembers this feeling.

The first time his mother handed him the violin. Her smile had been as soft as her words, but her teaching rigorous and disciplined.

He’d mastered it in a matter of months.

And then she was gone.

Keith winces, nearly butchers part of the song.

He recovers quickly - and thinks of Shiro.

He’s always thinking of Shiro these days. 

He wonders what Shiro sees when he looks at Keith. Wonders why he falls asleep so easily in Keith’s home and talks to him about the monsters in his closet and his dark, nightmare ridden past.

And as he finishes out the last note and separates the bow from his violin - the judges and audience erupting in deafening applause - Keith wonders if Shiro is as hopelessly in love with him as he is with Shiro.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


“So - how does it feel?”

Matt looks nervous and excited and ready to burst out of his body. His hands are twisting against his stomach and he keeps casting fretful looks at the heart monitor to Shiro’s left.

Shiro’s finally free of the anesthesia - has been for about an hour - and gives Matt a reassuring smile, “I feel great.”

He looks down at his new arm, matte white and trimmed with gold. He curls his fingers into a fist and nearly cries at how easy it is. As easy as curling his flesh hand into a fist.

“I feel - amazing.” He knows his voice wobbles.

Sam Holt comes around and shares a wide smile, “It’s responding perfectly. Better than I imagined it would.”

“Was a little dicey at times.” Matt laughs nervously, “A few of your nerves were being stubborn.”

“Nothing we couldn’t handle.” Sam assures.

Shiro continues to wiggle his fingers around, eyes hazy with tears, “Thank you. Both of you.”

There are no more words he could possibly use to thank them. They all seem useless in comparison to the emotions swirling around inside his chest. He’s spent the better part of a year coming to terms with his 9 to 5 library job and finally giving up on on sending in applications to pilot programs.

Now - now he might just have a chance again.

“Will I be able to fly a plane?” Shiro clears his throat.

Sam looks up from his data pad, bewildered, “I don’t see why not.” He pushes up his glasses, “You can do just about anything with it - given we run some more tests in the next few months. Your nerves responded well, but I want to make sure it won’t exhaust you physically or mentally.”

Shiro nods, “Okay.”

“We could use the test arms in pressurized simulations.” Matt offers.

“Excellent idea.” Sam jots that down on his pad.

Sam runs a few more tests, making Shiro move the arm and follow simple instructions. He has Shiro lift different objects around the room, open the doors and windows.

Shiro had almost forgotten what it was like to be able to use both of his arms to do the simplest of things.

By mid-afternoon, Sam deems him fit enough to head home.

“I’d like you to come by in a few days for calibration.” Sam says, “I also want to test the endurance and strength of it some more.”

“Got it.” Shiro grins, shouldering his overnight bag.

“Give Atlas extra scratches with it!” Matt calls from his office with a laugh.

Shiro chuckles and waves goodbye with his new hand.

The hallway leading down to the front doors of the build is a long one. Shiro takes his time, a half smile on his face.

He’s only a little sad - leaving yet another hospital with no one waiting on the other side. At least this time he’s gained something instead of losing it.

Atlas will be excited to see him, he thinks as he arrives at the double doors, and he can call up Keith in a little while and tell him how it went. Maybe they can go for coffee in the morning and talk about his audition.

Pidge pushes through the doors as he reaches for the handle.

She startles, “Oh! You’re out. Awesome.” Her eyes dart down to the arm and her lips part and tremble, “It’s -.”

Shiro laughs softly and lifts the arm, “You designed it, right?”

Her fingers are reverent as they graze the metal, “It’s beautiful.”

“Thanks, Pidge.” Shiro whispers.

“Of course.” She shoves at him with a sniffle, “Keith’s letting the dogs wander around outside, they’ve been so cooped up these last few days.”

Shiro’s heart jumps, “Keith is here?”

“Yea.” She jerks a thumb at the door, “He wanted to be here when you got out.”

Shiro swallows thickly, “He did?” His eyes stray to the door in excitement and it must show on his face because Pidge just laughs.

“Oh go.” She waves, “I want to see that new arm in action soon!”

Shiro grins and opens the door.

It’s snowing.

The Holt’s intricate landscape is coated in a thick layer of white. It makes the scene before him even more breathtaking.

Keith is bundled up in a faded red sweater and black jeans. His hair is freckled with fresh snow and he looks mildly perturbed as both of their dogs bounce around in ankle-deep powder. Shiro has no doubt they’re going to track wet sludge all over Keith’s banger of a car.

Atlas is the first to notice him.

Her head swivels around and a happy, excited bark escapes her. Her entire back end wiggles violently and she yanks at her leash, front paws coming off the ground.

Shiro grins like a lunatic and trudges out into the snow to meet them.

Keith’s eyes grow wider the closer he gets, “Shiro. You’re out - “ His mouth turns up into a smile as Shiro come to a halt in front of him, Atlas and Kosmo on either side, “Pidge wasn’t sure if - mmmf -.”

Shiro grabs his face between both of his hands and kisses him.

He can vaguely hear both dogs letting out mirrored barks and the tell-tale hitch in Keith’s breathing as Shiro devours his mouth.

Those small, violin-wielding hands curl into his jacket and tug him closer.

Keith’s lips part on a soft moan and the kiss shudders, alters and deepens all in a few seconds. Shiro slides his hands down Keith’s neck, down his shoulders, then he wraps his new arm around his waist and brings their bodies together in one long, warm line.

When they  finally part, their breathing fogs up the air. Keith’s cheeks are flushed and his eyes half-lidded and dazed. He looks heart achingly gorgeous like this.

Shiro kisses him again.

It doesn’t last as long as the first one, because Atlas starts trying to wiggle her way between them.

Shiro laughs and reaches down to pet his girl, “You’ll get your turn.”

“S-Shiro -.” Keith croaks, “That was -.”

“Welcomed. I hope.” Shiro whispers with a nervous laugh, arm still tucked tight around Keith’s waist. He studies Keith’s stunned face for a long moment, “Keith?”

Keith shakes his head as if to clear it, “Yes.” His hands smooth up Shiro’s chest and then he breathes out a wondrous, “Do it again?”

They’re both smiling when Shiro kisses him a third time.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


Mid-December brings heavy snowfall and that means frequent days indoors. 

Keith’s performances peter off into Friday afternoons - weather forgiving - and he spends the rest of his time curled up on Shiro’s couch or working part time at the Garrison Diner.

On his off days, he finds himself at the library, watching Shiro work the shelves. Atlas tags close to his side, ever the faithful companion, though sometimes she detours in search of Keith. Shiro almost always follows with a warm smile and a kiss.

In the evenings, Keith finds himself lounging in Shiro’s bed, dogs curled up at their feet while Shiro puts his resume together.

The room is quiet and still, with only the sound of Shiro’s fingers ticking across a keyboard cutting through the silence.

Keith watches him with half-lidded eyes.

“Any luck?” He mumbles.

Shiro’s silver gaze cuts over to him, “I’ve gotten a few emails. Most of them are requesting I retake my certifications before applying. Which I expected.” His metal fingers tap against the touchpad, “But Sam wants to continue testing the arm in pressurized scenarios before I get back in a plane.”

Keith grunts, “You’ll get there.”

Shiro’s laugh is soft and a hand curls through Keith’s hair, “Falling asleep on me?”

“Long day.” Keith nuzzles his face into the pillow, breathing in Shiro’s laundry detergent and the general scent of him.

“Hear anything from Altea?” Shiro asks.

“Should hear something in a week or so.” Keith hums, “Not holding my breath or anything.”

“We’ll have to celebrate if you get in.” There’s a tease in Shiro’s voice as his fingers brush the back of Keith’s neck.

The touch tingles down his spine. Goosebumps rise across his arms and heat flares at the base of his belly.

Keith cracks an eye open, “I can get behind that kind of celebration.”

Shiro laughs, “I meant  _ dinner _ .”

But he’s already setting his laptop to the side and Keith rolls onto his back just in time for Shiro to settle above him.

The kiss is molten. Keith bows his back until his chest brushes Shiro’s. Then big, warm hands curl under his thighs to spread his legs and make room for Shiro’s bulk. He shivers and opens his mouth on a moan.

Shiro’s tongue finds his, thumbs digging into the dip of Keith’s hip bones as they surge against one another. Their cocks drag together, hard and rough but there’s not enough friction through two layers of sweatpants.

Keith’s hands flutter on Shiro’s shoulders, nails curling into the plain white tee he’s wearing. The material bunches up in his grip and he shouts, thighs trembling as Shiro works a hand between them and frees both of their cocks.

His entire fist nearly fits around the two of them. It’s warm and encompassing and Keith’s breathing stutters inside his chest. His knees squeeze up around Shiro’s hips as they grind and roll in one sinuous line.

“Look at you, baby.” Shiro’s voice is a low purr at his ear, “So eager.”

Keith’s throat warbles out a moan. The pleasure is icy hot and building fast. He’s so close to the precipice.

“S-Shiro -.” He turns his head and cracks his eyes open to find Shiro’s lips.

Shiro slants their mouths together, fist squeezing around them on the upstroke, thumb brushing over the wet, sticky head of Keith’s dick.

Keith shouts into the kiss, belly trembling.

Shiro mirrors him, but it’s quieter, more intense. His eyes squeeze shut and his hips stutter and Keith welcomes the sudden weight of him as he drops.

They’re both going to need to clean up soon. The dogs have long since abandoned them. Keith has a feeling they’ll be ringing the bell soon.

But he’s content to lay there a while longer as Shiro peppers wet, open mouthed kisses along his neck and shoulder. His weight is warm and solid, metal hand caressing mindless patterns across Keith’s cum-stained stomach.

“If that’s the kind of reward I’m going to get if I get in -.” Keith teases.

Shiro pinches him, “I meant dinner, you menace.”

“I’ll take dinner too.” Keith grins up at the ceiling, tilting his neck to give Shiro ample room to roam.

Shiro scoffs against his skin.

The bathroom bell jingles from the other side of the condo.

“I’ll let them out.” Shiro presses a kiss on Keith’s mouth, “Order something in for dinner?”

Keith nods and stretches his arms above his head as Shiro climbs off. He snaps his sweats back into place and Keith’s mouth waters as his dick still cuts an impressive line through the pants.

Shiro sends him a knowing smirk as he pads out of the bedroom.

Keith just closes his eyes and smiles.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  
  


Having Keith stay the night was a risk Shiro wasn’t willing to take at first. 

Christmas is right around the corner and Shiro doesn’t want to spend his first holiday back in the states alone.

Pidge invites them over for a family dinner a week before Christmas.

It’s filled with laughter and delicious food and three happy dogs winding in between everyones legs. Shiro is warm and giddy through the entire night. Keith only leaves his side once and that was to play a few chosen Christmas tunes for a very puppy-eyed Pidge.

Keith has a little too much to drink afterwards and Shiro finds it easier to simply bring him back to his condo to sleep it off.

In all the chaos and excitement, he forgot why he hasn’t had another person stay the night in his bed.

It’s easy to forget about the nightmares when you’re happy.

He wakes in a cold sweat and a phantom pain sweeps down his body like a heatwave. His heart is racing and fear licks up the back of his throat, tasting of ash. Atlas’ nose is cold and wet as she sets her head on the bed beside his flesh arm. Her whine is soft, curious.

Shiro’s chest burns.

He puts both hands to his eyes and lets out an agonized wheeze.

He fights back the urge to cry, but fails. It’s a lost cause. It sears through him, a poison he’ll never quite get rid of, and comes out jagged on the other side.

Atlas jumps into the bed and another weight follows her.

Kosmo.

_ Keith _ .

Shiro tries to force himself into some semblance of calm before he rolls over to see if he woke Keith up.

When he turns his head, Keith is watching him. His eyes are liquid violet in the space between them and there’s a calm serenity in his gaze that stomps out Shiro’s last line of defense.

“Are you okay?” Keith’s voice is smoky with sleep.

Shiro swallows, “No.”

He doesn’t know how to proceed. He has no idea how to ask from Keith what he needs the most right now. He’s embarrassed and strung out and -

Keith lifts his side of the blankets and tucks his other arm under Shiro’s pillow.

It’s an invitation - if Shiro wants it.

And he does.

He rolls over into Keith’s space and tucks his face against the soft cotton of the t-shirt he let Keith borrow.

When Keith’s arms curl around him, he breaks.

Keith says nothing, just presses his face against Shiro’s hair and strokes long, thing fingers up and down the length of his spine.

Atlas’ weight trots across the bed and she settles, warm and solid, up against his back. Kosmo curls around his feet.

And for the first time in a long time - Shiro feels safe.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


There’s a crisp white envelope sticking out of Keith’s mailbox when he arrives home the Sunday before Christmas eve. His keys are stuck in the lock and he can hear his dogs nails clicking around on the tile floor just on the other side of the door.

His eyes zero in on the mail. Mail that would have to be custom sent to arrive on a Sunday in the first place.

His fingers shake as he plucks it from the holder.

_ The Altean Institute for Musical Arts _ is written in shimmering gold in the return address spot. His own name and address rests in a curly silver font at the center. There’s a fancy stamp in the right hand corner and a certified mail stamp to the left of it.

Keith’s breathing hollows out.

His dog barks inside and he struggles to get the door unlocked and opened so he can let him out into the backyard to use the bathroom.

While Kosmo does his business, Keith just stares at the letter.

He’s terrified to open it.

On one hand, it could be a rejection letter. ‘Sorry, your talents don’t meet Altea’s criteria. Come back next year!’. That would be a blow to his self-esteem, but he’d be able to take the hit and move on.

On the other hand, it could be acceptance. Which means enrolling in classes after the new year and financial aid and making sure he can make ends meet while also going to school full time. All he knows for sure is he can’t look at this alone.

Nails on glass pull him out of his panic and he lets Kosmo back inside.

“Wanna go see Shiro and Atlas?” Keith murmurs, grabbing the leash from the hook by the front door.

Kosmo barks twice and plants his butt on the ground while Keith hooks the leash to his collar.

Together, they load up into Keith’s clunker of a car and drive downtown to Shiro’s condo. The streets are mostly clear of afternoon snow and he can see the snow plow further down the length of Shiro’s road. He finds a spot along the curb and bounces in the direction of Shiro’s front door.

The letter is clutched tight within his hand as he knocks. He feels a little bad for not texting or calling first -

Atlas barks from within and feet shuffle across the carpet until the door pops open.

Shiro’s dressed in jeans and a blue long-sleeve, wearing the rocket-ship socks Pidge bought him for Christmas.

His face breaks into a smile, “Hi, Keith.”

Kosmo wiggles between Shiro’s legs in an attempt to get to Atlas. Shiro laughs and steps back, kicking his leg up just as Keith releases the leash.

He steps in after his dog, lifts the envelope and slams it into Shiro’s chest.

Shiro fumbles for a moment, then catches the writing on the letter, “This is it!” He waves it excitedly, “Have you read it?”

Keith puts his face in his hands, “No. God. I don’t know if I want to.”

“Well I do.” Shiro laughs and the sound of paper ripping open follows.

There’s a loaded moment where Keith drags his hands down his face, ready to turn to Shiro and meet his fate head-on. But he freezes before he can turn around.

There’s a man in Shiro’s apartment.

A tall, slim man with glasses and looking mildly uncomfortable as Atlas and Kosmo start wrestling on the carpet.

Shiro takes in a sharp breath behind him, “You got in.”

Keith swivels around, “What?”

Shiro’s holding the unfolded letter in his new hand, grin so wide it would split his face open if it got any bigger. His eyes meet Keith’s, “You got in.” A laugh comes next, loud and booming as he crosses the space between them and lifts Keith into the air, “You got in!”

A laugh bubbles out of Keith without warning as he braces his forearms on Shiro’s shoulders and allows himself to be spun around.

Shiro sets him back down and kisses him right there. Keith is helpless to resist.

“I’m so proud of you, baby.” Shiro murmurs into the kiss.

“T-thanks.” Keith pats his chest, “But you have company.” He snatches the letter out of Shiro’s hand and clears his throat with a half-smile, “Sorry to interrupt.”

Shiro looks up over his head like he forgot they weren’t the only ones in his house, “Oh. Sorry. Got a little excited.” He looks back down at Keith, “Wanna go out for dinner? To celebrate?”

Keith nods, “I’ll go home and get ready.”

“You have clothes here.” Shiro’s hands dance over his waist, “No need to go all the way back across town. Adam and I were just finishing our talk.”

Keith’s eyebrows go up.

Adam.

Shiro’s ex.

“You sure?” Keith glances back to see Adam adjusting his glasses and looking everywhere but at the two of them.

Shiro’s nose brushes his cheek, “Positive. Go shower and change and you get to pick the place.”

“Okay.” Keith shuffles out of Shiro’s grip and toes off his combat boots so he doesn’t track anymore melted snow into Shiro’s house.

Shiro finally shuts the door, cutting off the chilly winter wind and steps around Keith, “Adam, Keith. Keith, Adam.” He waves between them.

Adam steps around the sofa and extends his hand.

Keith shakes it warily, “Hey.”

“Hello.” Adam clears his throat, “We are almost done.”

“Cool.” Keith shrugs, then whistles for the dogs, “Come on. Bedroom.” They follow him through the doorway and Keith closes the door until only a crack is left.

“I - ah - wasn’t aware you were seeing anymore.” Adam’s tone sounded soft and if Keith wasn’t imagining things - a little defeated.

“It’s not really your business.” Shiro sighs.

“I deserve that.” Adam says, “I just wanted to clear the air. Apologize.”

“Consider it cleared.” Shiro replies, “Thanks for coming by.”

Keith steps away from the door at that and makes his way into the shower.

He’s halfway through washing the smell of bacon grease out of his hair when the door creaks open.

Shiro’s silhouette is unmistakable as he sighs and takes a seat on the toilet lid.

“You okay?” Keith asks.

“A little emotionally exhausted.” Shiro replies, “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Keith’s stomach twists, “We can do a celebration dinner later this week. After the holidays. Doesn’t have to be today.”

“Keith.” Shiro huffs.

Keith draws back a section of the curtain, “And what if I want to spend the rest of the day in bed with you as celebration?”

Shiro’s smile is weak, “That’s not much of a celebration.”

“It is if I’m with you.” Keith counters.

Shiro flushes at that and puts his hand over his mouth to muffle a laugh, “Okay. Okay. Terrible action movie and chinese?”

Keith’s grin is shark-like, “You know me so well.”

It’s the perfect night in.

Shiro drags his laptop into the bedroom and they eat Chinese food and go over the logical choices for classes that Keith should take. It’s comfortable and warm and Keith never dreamed he’d be this content - this happy - after learning to live without it.

By the time the movie is finished, Kosmo and Atlas have passed out together on the floor at the foot of the bed.

The end credits roll across the screen as Keith drags Shiro down into a kiss.

They make love in the low light from the laptop screen. Shiro whispers sweet words and praise against his sternum and Keith begs him for more in return.

All in all, it’s the best Christmas Keith’s had in a long, long time.

He knows without a doubt that it’s the same for Shiro.

  
  
  


-

  
  


_ One year later _

  
  
  


Shiro stumbles up the steps of the backstage area. He almost drops the bouquet of flowers clutched tight to his chest.

There’s a crowd of students milling around in the back. Most of them are dressed sharp, in tuxedos and dresses of a multitude of colors. The chatter is almost deafening, but Shiro doesn’t have time to sort through the noise.

One of the students - piano extraordinaire Lance - rolls his eyes at Shiro and points to the parted curtain nearest to the stage.

Shiro can make out the braided length of Keith’s hair, decorated with soft white flowers and baby's breath. He’s in a fitted black tuxedo with red trim and the stagehand is adjusting what Shiro knows is a silver bow-tie.

“Keith!” Shiro squeezes in between two cello players in an attempt to reach his boyfriend.

Keith’s head turns in his direction, “What are you doing back here?” He twists around to face Shiro fully.

Shiro comes to a stop, smile wide as he takes in Keith’s appearance.

“You look  _ gorgeous _ .” Shiro says breathlessly.

Keith flushes, “Uh - thanks - I thought you were going to be late.”

Shiro waves his hand, “My students made me leave early. Said I was ‘too distracted’ and ‘what’s the use of being in the simulator with us if you’re just going to sigh dreamily about your boyfriend the whole time’.”

Keith snorts, “Tough crowd.”

“They mean well.” Shiro beams and shoves the flowers out between them.

Keith’s face gets redder, but his fingers curl at the base of the bouquet and he peers up at Shiro with sly eyes, “Takashi. You’re supposed to give the flowers to me  _ after _ the performance.”

“I didn’t want to wait.” Shiro tucks a finger under Keith’s chin, “And I wanted to give you a good luck kiss.”

Keith snorts again as Shiro brings their lips together.

“The fifteen you gave me before work this morning wasn’t enough?”

Shiro purrs against Keith’s mouth, “Never.”

“Gross.” Lance calls out from behind them, “Shiro this space is for performers  _ only _ .”

Keith throws a hand up behind Shiro’s back and it doesn’t take a genius to know what he’s doing with his fingers. And judging by Lance’s scandalized gasp, Shiro is right.

“Be nice.” Shiro nips at Keith’s bottom lip, “See you after the show?”

Keith hums out an affirmative.

“You’re going to do great.” Shiro whispers.

“I’m a little nervous.” Keith admits, face twisting into a look of discomfort, “I’ve been practicing for  _ months _ \- but still.”

Shiro’s heart squeezes as he sets a steady hand on Keith’s shoulder, “You can do this. Remember, patience yields focus.”

Keith closes his eyes and takes a steady, solid inhale before letting it all out, “Got it.”

“I’ll be out there cheering.” Shiro steps back, “I love you.”

Keith’s gaze goes soft and affectionate, “I love you too. Now go, before Allura catches you back here  _ again _ .”

“Okay. Okay.” Shiro backtracks through the way he came and searches the crowd for Pidge and Matt.

Pidge spots him first and waves a hand above her head in a wild, uncontrolled motion.

Shiro wiggles his big frame through the filled rows before finally falling back into his assigned seat.

“He ready?” Pidge asks.

“As he’ll ever be.” Shiro laughs.

Matt grins around Pidge’s frame, “How are your blooming future pilots doing?”

“They kicked me out of my own plane.” Shiro sighs dramatically.

“Ha.” Matt barks out.

The lights go dim one at a time and the crowd falls into an anticipated hush around them. Shiro straightens in his seat, watching as Allura in her flowing silver gown and six inch heels crosses the stage to the microphone.

“Welcome to the Annual Altean Music Festival.” Her voice is posh and accented and she dazzles under the spotlight, “Each of our performers has worked long and hard to be on the stage this evening. Tonight, we celebrate them.” She throws out her arm, “Please welcome our first performer - Keith Kogane.”

Applause clatters to life as Keith steps through the curtains and out into the center of the stage.

Shiro’s heart shivers inside his chest at the sight of him.

Music fills the heavy air as Keith begins to play. The whole audience seems to sigh out at the beauty of it.

It feels like a lifetime ago - meeting Keith in that tiny courtyard. Performing for tips. Both of them listless and living in empty apartments, barely scraping by. 

The excess space in his life was so barren he can’t remember how he lasted so long living like that.

Keith fills in that infinite space now - with his love and his music.

Shiro’s life isn’t empty any more.

  
  
  


**The End**   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Come join me on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/blackpalaladin)


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